Poem of the Week

October 30, 2007 #458

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a Halloween poem. I'm sending it out earlier than usual because I will be away this Thursday.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the Week."

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Horror is a kind of play,
A need to undergo
Life along the borderline,
Lest death be just a name.
On Halloween we dream away
What wailing we well know,
Enchanted by the danger sign
Each savors up and down the spine,
Near haunts that are no game.

Poem of the Week

October 25, 2007 #457

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a religious poem.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the Week."

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Note: There have been two recent changes to my site. I have added a fiction section at http://www.poemsforfree.com/fictio.html, and you can now get the poem of the week as a feed rather than as an email. If you would prefer that method of delivery, just click on the feed icon at http://www.poemsforfree.com/week.html.

People who are certain are a curtain
Draped between the object and the word.
One sees only formulas repeated
Tirelessly, like stones thrown at the wind.

Such faith is evidence of little faith,
For faith knows very well it cannot know.
Doubt becomes a glass through which one sees
A star or two between fast-moving clouds.

A truth will never last as long as Truth,
For truths must be devoured before they melt.
One may believe, of course, but not too tightly;
When one looks, one sees one’s God is free.

Poem of the Week

October 18, 2007 #456

Dear Subscriber: 

This week’s poem of the week is an anniversary poem.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site 
by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the 
Week."

Yours, 

Nick Gordon

Forty years of marriage are a pass
On which one rests to see the view both ways,
Remembering the valleys left behind,
Taking in the grandeur just ahead.
Yet there is far too much for one to see.

Years of youth must blend like distant brass
Even as love knots the migrant days
And time blows through the moment like a wind.
Regret and gratitude are here well wed,
So much alike, one could the other be.